Returning Home

by Karen Whiddon

  He held up a hand. “Don’t apologize. It’s as much my fault as yours.”

  Stung, she gaped at him. “Fault?”

  He gave her a terse nod. “I don’t know who you are.” His low voice was full of self-condemnation. “You can’t help it if you’re a desirable woman. You’re beautiful, Hope. I want you. But I shouldn’t have done that, especially since you came here to help * >

  me.

  He shot her a wry look, his anger still simmering. But this time she somehow knew the anger was directed at himself. “I can promise you it won’t happen again.”

  He thought her beautiful And desirable. Part of her wanted to rejoice, part of her wanted to run.

  “Jeff,” she said tentatively. Taking a chance she laid a hand on his arm. Immediately, she felt the corded muscles tense. “Stop it I’m the one who should have known better. I’m here to help you, not seduce you.” If she felt a moment’s instant regret, she squashed it.

  Again he nodded, his hands clenched on the steering wheel. “We’re almost there.”

  Hope glanced out the window, seeing nothing but the land, the endless horizon, scrub trees, and tumbleweed. She gave his arm one final squeeze, forcing her lips to part in what she hoped was a soothing smile. “Friends?”

  If he hesitated a moment too long, she pretended not to notice it. “Okay,” he said. Yanking the steering wheel to the right, he made a sharp turn onto an almost hidden track. Only a rusted gate and some barbed wire fence hidden in the undergrowth marked its passage.

  “Here?” She peered through the window, searching for some outbuildings, a bam, or a house.

  Jeff saw her looking and chuckled. “It’s still another mile down this road.”

  To her left she spotted a herd of grazing longhorns. She pointed. “Yours?”

  “Yup.” Pride rang in his voice. “I have a few horses, too.”

  Suppressing a smile, Hope nodded.

  Around another curve she saw it. A white, two story farmhouse, freshly painted. It looked like something out of a movie, something out of her dreams.

  Jeff pulled up alongside it and killed the engine. He turned in his seat, his face an impersonal mask once more. “Here we are.”

  Hope stared at the house. She wondered if Jeff realized, subconsciously or not, that he’d bought a house that almost exactly resembled the house they’d once planned to build together. They’d even sent for blueprints through the mail and spent hours poring over them.

  Looking at this house broke her heart Tears pricked the back of her eyes. Determined not to cry, Hope climbed down from the truck. “It’s lovely,” her voice trembled.

  If he noticed, he gave no sign. “Come on.” Taking her hand in a casual grip, he led her to the wide front porch. His touch was more than she could bear right now, and she pulled her hand free.

  “Hey,” he said, with a note of mild protest, “I thought we were friends.”

  She couldn’t look at him. “We are,” she muttered, her voice thick with tears. “I just ... can’t handle this right now.” She moved to the edge of the porch and stared blindly at the endless horizon, trying to compose herself.

  “Hope?” Confusion, consternation, and concern warred with each other in his tone. “What is it? What the hell is wrong?”

  If he touched her, Hope knew she would shatter. She cursed herself for agreeing to come here, cursed herself for thinking that she was over her first love, and cursed herself for hurting. If Jeff—the Jeff that remembered what had happened—knew, he would probably have a good laugh. Then, when he found out what she had done, he would send her away.

  “Don’t.” Neatly, she sidestepped him, but not before catching a look of hurt on his handsome face.

  Perhaps later she would care that he was hurt, but right now her own emotions were all she could handle.

  Gulping great gasps of air, Hope struggled for control. She’d already dealt with this horrible sense of loss, of betrayal, and bereavement. She had dealt with it, struggled, and won. She would not, could not, fight the same battle again.

  “Hope?” Tentative, his husky voice moved her more than she wanted to admit.

  Resolutely, she kept her back to him. “Yes?”

  “I’m going inside.” He sounded disgusted. It was the exasperated voice of a male dealing with an irrational and moody female.

  “Fine.” For her part, she knew she sounded like a sulky child. She didn’t care. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Behind her, she heard the creak of a screen door, then the sound of the door closing. At last, she was alone on the porch of the house that was remarkably like the one she’d always dreamed of, the one that still haunted her dreams now and then.

  How was she going to manage this? She covered her face with shaking hands and tried to clear her brain. It was too much. She needed to go back to the house in town, pack her suitcase, and tell Charlene it had all been a terrible mistake.

  But Hope Glidewell had never run from a challenge. She had only run once, ten years ago, and she had regretted it ever since. She couldn’t leave Jeff now. He was a man with no past—and no future.

  At last, somewhat calmer, Hope steeled herself enough to open the door and go inside.

  Walking into the small parlor, she stared. It was stark and sparsely furnished. An old pine rocker, a rag rug, and a lamp were the only pieces of furniture.

  She wandered down the narrow hall, her boot heels clicking on the unvarnished wood floors. Mentally, she noted where she would have placed a curio cabinet, a mirror, or perhaps a vase. The hall was as barren as the parlor.

  It could have been a beautiful house, a warm house, made for a family and love. It was a house that begged for children’s footsteps, children’s laughter.

  Instead it was nearly empty and comfortless. Sadness threatened to overwhelm her again. Straightening her shoulders, she refused to let it.

  She found Jeff in the kitchen, hunched intently over a stack of mail. He looked up when she came in, his expression wary.

  “Hi,” she said, deliberately making her tone light “Do you mind if I take a look at the rest of the house?”

  Brows raised, he glanced around him and shrugged. “Sure. Go ahead.”

  Hope decided to start with the kitchen. It was a large room with a double oven, separate cook top, and an island counter. Over the sink was a picture window that faced west. Jeff had not bothered to hang curtains or blinds to block out the strong afternoon sun. Unadorned, the window seemed to symbolize the utter lack of personality in the entire house.

  To the right of the kitchen was a small den. A brick fireplace with a large wooden mantel dominated the room. Here he had placed a tattered sofa and what looked like a new recliner. There were no pictures and, she noted with dismay, no drapes or blinds.

  “How long have you lived here?” she asked quietly, turning to look at him, wanting to see his face.

  “I don’t know.” He studied the room, as though he were trying to see it with her eyes. “Charlene says I built it around a year ago.” He flashed a rueful grin. “I guess I wasn’t much on decorating, huh?” “To say the least” Hope found herself grinning back. “Maybe you were busy.”

  “Yeah.” His grin widened, causing a strange warmth to spread within her. “Running a hardware store strikes me as real time consuming.”

  For some reason she felt obliged to defend him. “Well, it must have been. You had to order supplies, hire people, keep up with trends.” She glanced out the window, spying a few more cattle. “And you had your stock to take care of.”

  “Yeah.” He looked skeptical, which made her want to laugh. “But the place needs a woman’s touch, I think.”

  His words cut through her, sharp as a knife. With an effort, she kept on smiling. “Maybe you just haven’t met the right woman.”

  “Maybe not.” He went back to opening the mail, gesturing absently toward the stairs near the den. “Go on upstairs, take a look around. There are three bedrooms up there.”
<
br />   Unaccountably, her heart started pounding. Glad that he meant to stay downstairs, she climbed the steps, telling herself not to be a fool.

  She found his bedroom immediately. This, at least, he’d furnished. A huge four-poster bed in rich cherry- wood dominated the room. There was a matching nightstand, dresser, and elegantly carved mirror.

  It looked like a model room in a furniture store, complete with designer bedspread and drapes. Idly, she wondered if he had specified that they be included when he made the purchase.

  But here, under the grey and black comforter, was where Jeff spent his nights.

  Heat flooded her at the thought of him, naked, sprawled out in all his glory. She couldn’t help it, she saw herself, wrapped in his arms, moving with him. Making love.

  “Stop it,” she muttered out loud. She was talking to herself. What would be next, hearing voices?

  Moving briskly, she went on to the other rooms. There were two empty bedrooms, the carpet as new looking as the day it had been installed. It was perplexing, and sad.

  She found a full bathroom in between the two bedrooms, and debated returning to Jeff’s room to check out his bathroom. No, she didn’t think she could face seeing that bed again.

  Mentally calling herself a coward, she trudged back down the stairs.

  The kitchen was empty. Glancing around, she spied

  Jeff outside, two large dogs—Border collies—frolicked at his heels.

  Hope sagged against the counter. Border collies had been her favorite breed of dog. They’d said they would have two, a male and a female, so that they could have puppies.

  Jeff had done it without her. He’d built their house, gotten their dogs, lived half of their dream—alone. It was a hollow sort of existence.

  And he didn’t even realize it.

  That was the saddest part of it all.

  When he regained his memory, with or without her help, would he realize it and hate her even more?

  Heart sinking, Hope went outside to meet the dogs.

  Jeff saw her coming, strolling across the yard with an assurance that let him know she felt comfortable here, and he wondered what was wrong. From the moment she’d seen his house, she’d gotten a sadness in her eyes. He wished he knew what the hell his house reminded her of and why it hurt her so badly.

  He wondered why coming here had made her cry and why she hadn’t wanted him to comfort her.

  Someday, if he were lucky, he supposed he would know.

  Cookie and Merlin, his two Border collies, spotted her at the same time. Tongues lolling, they bounded towards her in a whirl of black and white.

  When they reached her, if she wasn’t prepared, they would knock her down.

  To his amazement, she crouched down and held out her arms.

  In seconds they were all over her, tails wagging and licking her face with big, enthusiastic slurps. As he moved closer, he heard her speaking to them in that low, baby tone they loved so well.

  Then she looked up and saw him. The happy light vanished from her eyes.

  “So much for their training.” Though the bleakness in her face bothered him, he tried not to show it

  “Yeah,” she said as she ruffled their heads one last time before standing and wiping her hands on her jeans. “What are their names?”

  He smiled sheepishly. “Cookie and Merlin. They’re inseparable.”

  She watched them tumble over each other as they rolled in the grass. “They’re beautiful. You always wanted working sheep dogs.”

  “Come on.” He held out a hand without thinking, then remembered how she’d acted on the porch earlier. Since there was no way he could gracefully withdraw, he kept his smile plastered on his face and waited to see what she would do. “I’ll show you the bam.”

  Hope hesitated, then slipped her small hand into his. He stood still for a moment feeling the way he’d felt last week when the dogs had cornered a rabbit and he’d had to capture it to set it free.

  She looked at him, her lips parted in surprise, and he realized he’d been standing frozen, gripping her hand tightly as if he thought she meant to run away.

  “Sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. He felt as if he owed her some explanation. “I was thinking.” Before she could ask him any questions, he gave her hand a light tug and led the way to his bam.

  Chapter Four

  During the bumpy ride back to town, Hope kept silent. Chewing her bottom lip, she fought exhaustion, knowing it was brought on by depression. The worst part about it was that she couldn’t even talk to Jeff, since he had no memory of their shared past.

  Sometimes she wished she couldn’t remember either. Knowing what Jeff had done to her was not nearly as bad as knowing what she’d ended up doing to him.

  He pulled up in front of his sister’s house and got out, silent and brooding. While she fumbled with the door handle, he came around and opened her door, standing back so that they didn’t accidentally touch.

  Too tired to feel hurt, Hope gave him a weary smile. “I need a nap,” she said.

  One golden brow quirked in a gesture so classically Jeff that she nearly smiled. He glanced at his watch. “It’s only four o’clock. Not even supper time.”

  “Are you staying to eat?” She didn’t want to sound too hopeful, though she knew the old Jeff would have recognized the barely hidden eagerness in her voice.

  “I can.” He leaned across the hood of his truck, the sunlight making his eyes look alive for the first time since she’d arrived. His slow grin unsettled her. “If you really want me to.”

  Flustered, Hope nodded. For some strange reason, she didn’t want him to leave.

  Still leaning on his truck, he said, “Then I’m staying. What do you want to do tomorrow?”

  With her face flaming, she tried to pretend she didn’t find his innocent comment wildly suggestive. “I’m making a list”

  He leaned closer. “A list? Are you one of those super organized people?”

  She felt her smile slipping. He couldn’t know that he used to tease her mercilessly about her penchant for organization. “Sometimes. When I have to be.” “Oh.”

  They walked into the kitchen, side by side but not touching. Charlene eyed them curiously.

  “Afternoon.” Watching them with interest, Charlene shook her head. “Did you two quarrel or something?”

  “No,” Hope said, too quickly.

  “Not like we used to,” Jeff quipped.

  Everyone froze.

  For one startled, heart-stopping moment, Hope thought Jeff remembered. Fear surged through her, an absolute terror that made her palms damp. Even knowing that it was utterly, totally out of proportion— he didn’t know about Alisha, he couldn’t know about Alisha—didn’t help.

  Then he turned that carefully polite gaze of his on her, and her fear subsided. Jeff’s memory hadn’t returned. He was still the same, indifferent stranger he’d been when she arrived.

  “Like we used to?” Carefully keeping her tone bland, Hope took a deep breath. “Did you remember something?”

  For a moment, confusion warred with apathy in Jeff’s beautiful eyes. He shook his head and grimaced slightly. “I thought I did, but it’s gone now.”

  Hope’s gaze flew to his face. His eyes had shadowed and a shiver of foreboding rippled through her.

  He moved closer, taking a seat at the old kitchen table. Aware of every step he took, every move he made, Hope sat across from him.

  He reached across the table, took her hand, and squeezed gently. She felt a shock like summer lightning from a long forgotten season.

  “After we eat, I wondered if you would like to go out for a drink,” he asked, his deep voice quiet and steady.

  “A date?” The words were out before she had time to think, and instantly she regretted saying them. Again she felt herself color.

  “Like in the old days!” Charlene clapped her hands, either not noticing or choosing to ignore Hope’s discomfort.

  One corner of Jeff’s
mouth tipped up in the beginning of a smile. His constant regard never wavered from her face. “I’ll bring you home right after, if you want”

  A simple drink between friends, Hope told herself, trying to slow her runaway pulse. She would be extremely foolish to make more of it than it was. After all, it could never be more than that. The weight of the years, and their sins, hung heavy between them.

  Still, she couldn’t help but allow herself to relish the way he said the word home. She was tempted to ask him if he meant to drive her clear back to Dallas, but she secretly rejoiced that he thought Dalhart could ever again be her home.

  If the world was a perfect place, it would be so. But, the cynical thought intruded, too much had happened to both of them. Once she had thought him a sinner, now she knew that of the two, she had perpetrated the greater sin.

  She prayed Jeff would never find out. There was no reason he should know, not now, when it was far too late. It was something she alone would have to live with for the rest of her life.

  Charlene cleared her throat, reminding them of her presence. “It’s about time you let people in Dalhart know you’re back, Hope. After all, you’ve only got three weeks.”

  Hope exchanged a glance with Jeff, who shrugged. “Three weeks for what?”

  “Our high school reunion, remember?”

  With all that had been going on, Hope had managed to push the high school reunion to the back of her mind. “I’ve got to go shopping!”

  Jeff’s mouth tipped up in a wry smile. “You’ll have to go to Amarillo. There’s not much shopping around here.”

  “I know,” Hope told him softly. “It was the same when I lived here. Charlene and I used to tear up Amarillo, remember?”

  Charlene grinned. “Sure do. You need something elegant”

  “Exactly,” Hope sighed, thinking of the beautiful dresses she had back in her closet in Dallas.

  “And slinky.”

  “Expensive.”

  “But worth it.”

  Hope had to laugh at the expression on Jeff’s face. He’d been watching the two of them like a spectator at a tennis match.

  “Women,” he muttered.

  Hope laughed again. To her surprise, Jeff reached out and awkwardly touched her cheek, his gaze oddly tender. She froze.